


The Ghost of the Polar Express

by orphan_account



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Polar Express - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Ghost!Shane, M/M, Supernatural Elements, polar express au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 23:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ryan lifted an eyebrow. "You're a freighthopper?"The man threw his head back, letting out a dry laugh. "Nah, kid. You see, I'm the king of this train," he said, pushing himself off the log sitting in the snow as he threw his hands up in a grandeur gesture. Then he sighed. "Well, not anymore. But I was." He crouched down, patting the surface of the train. "This old thing here used to be mine.""Oh," was all Ryan said, shoving his hands away into his pockets as the man stood back up. "What happened?"The man paused, looking Ryan dead in the eye. "Do you believe in ghosts?"





	The Ghost of the Polar Express

Late in the night, so late that not a sound could be heard and not a soul in the house stirred, Ryan laid awake in bed as he stared up at the clock hanging on his wall, ticking softly in the dark of his room.

He was thinking about the plate of milk and cookies they had set out in the living room moments ago.

 _What a waste,_ Ryan thought. _They'll just turn cold and hard if they're left out all night like that._

He thought about sneaking out of his room, just so he could take one bite of those gooey, delectable cookies, but he knew his little brother would be upset if he heard him. _Those are for Santa!_  he would say.

Ryan rolled his eyes at the thought. Of course, Jake was only seven years old, and all little kids believed in Santa Claus.

Ryan believed once, too.

He remembered staying up every Christmas when he was young, eagerly listening in for the jingling bells of Santa's sleigh, and for the prancing of reindeers' hooves on his roof, hoping the big man himself would come tumbling down his chimney to give him that baseball bat he'd always wanted. He'd waited, and waited, and waited.

But Santa never came, did he?

And that was because Santa never existed in the first place. Ryan knew that the sooner Jake learned that, the better, because if he spent too much time getting caught up in magic and fairytales, he'd only be disappointed when he found out the truth.

Ryan's thoughts were interrupted by the pitter-patter of tiny feet tiptoeing down the stairs beside his room, before his bedroom door was creaked open.

"Ry?"

Ryan turned his head, eyes squinting at the bright hallway light shining behind the figure of his little brother. He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Jake," he whispered as his brother closed the door behind himself, climbing into bed with him. "What are you doing up?"

Jake pulled the covers up over himself, and Ryan scooted over to give him some room. "I couldn't sleep."

Ryan sighed. "Well... just be quiet, okay? I don't want us to wake mom and dad."

Jake stared at the ceiling, biting his lip as he drummed his fingers on his belly. "Do you think Santa's just... taking a while longer?"

Ryan glanced over at his brother, who had worry written all over his face. He smiled pitifully. "Jake," he started before taking a deep breath in. "You know Santa isn't real. Right?"

Jake sat up, jaw dropping. "Don't say that!"

"Why?" Ryan asked, a blank look on his face. "You want me to lie to you like all the other adults do to get your hopes up on Christmas Eve?"

Jake crossed his arms over his chest. "You're just being a meanie!" he exclaimed. "Santa is real, and he's coming tonight!"

"No, he's not, Jake," Ryan calmly corrected, ignoring his brother's wobbling bottom lip. "He's a story that parents tell their kids to get them to go to sleep so they can put your presents under the tree without you knowing."

Jake hopped off the bed, clenching his fists as tears began welling up in his eyes. "That's not true!" he shouted.

"Yes, it is!" Ryan whisper-shouted.

Sobs spilled out of his brother's mouth, and groans from their mother and father waking could be heard from upstairs. Ryan shushed Jake before falling back onto his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, and exhaling. "Just grow up."

Jake sniffled, dashing out of Ryan's room and slamming the door behind him. Ryan sighed, turning on his side and being met with his wall again.

Maybe he had been a tad harsh on his brother.

Nevertheless, he closed his eyes, deciding he wasn't gonna allow his worries and thoughts to keep him up any longer. He wrapped his blanket over his shoulder, his brother's cries shrinking with every step he took up the stairs. Just him and the ticking again.

But as soon as he found himself drifting off to sleep, he was startled awake by his body being shaken. His eyebrows drew together as he turned to the glass sitting on his nightstand, lightly chattering on the wooden surface.

His family was still peacefully in slumber when a deep rumbling resonated from outside, the whole house beginning to shake violently. Ryan shot up in bed, heart racing as quick breaths escaped his lips. Slowly the rumbles became a gentle chugging, growing louder and louder, and then Ryan jumped when a long whistle blew out, ringing through the trees of his neighborhood.

Slipping out of bed, he tossed on his blue robe he kept hanging on the end-post, making quick to tie the thread around his waist as he carefully walked to his door, holding onto any nearby objects he could to keep from falling over in the tremor.

Twisting the doorknob, he walked down the hall and to the living room, making a left to where the front door of their house stood.

A bright, glaring yellow light flashed outside the window before he opened the door, and his mouth came open wide upon the sight before him.

A great big train, tall and wide, stopped right in front of their yard, between the neighboring houses.

He didn't bother to close the door before stepping down the steps of his front porch, and he approached the giant with careful manner.

Never had there ever been a train so big— it was larger than a whale, that was for sure. He'd never seen anything like it.

He reached out his hand, smoothing it over the rust that painted the black steel of the grand vessel. Lifting his chin, he caught a glimpse of the vintage funnel of the train, verifying the construction was older than he was.

A throat cleared beside him, and he tore his attention away from the steam engine to a man gripping the handlebar of the entrance to the train.

"Well?" he said, and Ryan had to blink a few times to suspend his disbelief. "Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna get on?"

Ryan stared in awe at the man. He was wearing a train conductor's hat and was in sharp uniform, and he had a bushy brown mustache below his oval-shaped glasses. Ryan straightened his posture. "M-Me, sir?"

"I _am_ looking at _you,_  aren't I, young man?" the assumed train conductor asked, and Ryan slowly nodded. "Then hop aboard. We've got a tight schedule, you know."

Ryan raised an eyebrow, looking back between the train and the man. "Where... where are we going?"

"Where are we going?" the man repeated, giving out a hearty laugh. He threw his one free hand up in the air. "Why, to the North Pole!" he shouted with pure excitement, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This is the Polar Express, my dear boy."

Ryan grabbed his head with both his hands. This couldn't be real. He had to be dreaming.

He whirled around, making sure no house's lights had turned on and no people were waken up, but the area was completely dark. The headlight from the Polar Express gave light to the man's face, who looked around forty-something, aged and tired, like he'd been doing this job, whatever it was, for years now.

The man flipped out his pocketwatch. "We've got fifteen seconds. Are you coming or not?"

Ryan bit his lip, looking back to his house, where his nice, safe bedroom was. He could get back to sleep, rest his droopy eyes, but then... what if he'd be missing out on something? He dropped his gaze before facing the man in question. "Um..." was all he could respond with.

"Ten seconds."

Ryan took a step forward, peeking inside the train. There were people inside, all different ages, sipping on hot chocolate and chatting amongst themselves. A girl with curly purple hair caught his eye and waved at him, and he waved back, smiling as he took a step back. He nodded at the man. "I'll come," he said. "Only for tonight."

"But of course!" the conductor exclaimed, shoving his pocketwatch away. He held his hand up beside his mouth as he called out, "all aboard!" and the train gave a whistle in response.

Ryan tied his robe tighter to his waist as he followed behind the man up the folding stairs, the train beginning to chug forward. "Watch your step now," the conductor warned, holding out his hand to signal Ryan to his seat, right next to the girl with curly hair.

"Hi," she greeted with a wide smile. She swung her feet forward and back, as they could not reach the floor. "My name's Sara."

Ryan smiled politely. "I'm-"

"Do you know what kind of train this is?"

Ryan turned his head to see a little brown-haired boy, who pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He was sitting up on his knees, peering over at him and Sara with a goofy smile on his face.

Sara beamed in return. "It's a magic train," she replied, a twinkle in her lit-up eyes.

Magic?

Ryan shook his head, suddenly feeling dizzy. His suspicions about this train were growing.

The boy with the glasses rolled his eyes. "I know it's a magic train. But do you know what _kind_ of train this is?"

"The Polar Express...?" Sara guessed.

"No, actually, it's a Baldwin 2-8-4 S3-class steam locomotive," the boy clarified, grinning from ear to ear. "Built in 1931 at the Baldwin Locomotive Works. It weighs 456,100 pounds and—"

"Tickets, please! Tickets!"

The boy frowned, shifting around in his seat as the conductor strolled down the aisles to collect the passengers' tickets.

The conductor loomed over, and Ryan lifted his chin to meet his eyes. "Ticket, please."

"I-I don't have a ticket, sir," Ryan stuttered.

"Check your pocket."

Ryan pushed his hand into his left pocket, fumbling through it and pulling it out empty. The conductor leaned closer. "Check your other pocket."

Ryan blinked at him for a second before sifting his hand inside his right pocket, a thin sheet of paper tickling his fingers, and he pulled it out to reveal a bronze ticket with  _Polar Express_  written on it in black ink. Ryan stared in amazement until the conductor snatched the ticket from him, and Ryan watched as he punched in a few holes before handing it back.

Ryan held the ticket up to the light, getting a good look at the little holes, which spelt out 'LE.' "What does—"

"Ah-ah-ah," the conductor cut him off, holding up a finger. "That's for only you to know," he said, turning to continue his round with the other passengers. Ryan furrowed his eyebrows, keeping his gaze fixed on the ticket in his hand.

"Mine says 'LE,' too." The boy with the glasses flipped around on his knees again, shoving his ticket in Ryan and Sara's faces. "What do you think it means?"

"You tell _us,_  Mr. 'Know-It-All,'" Ryan replied, rolling his eyes as he put his ticket back into his pocket.

"It's Zach, actually," the boy corrected, putting his ticket away too.

Sara turned to Ryan, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, I never did get your name."

Ryan blinked at her. "Oh, it's—"

"Hey, look, everybody!" Zach interrupted, his hands splayed out on the window beside him as he gazed out at the sky. "The Northern Lights! Or, as they're known by their Latin term, the Aurora Borealis. Well, actually, _Aurora_ is Latin. _Borealis_ stems more accurately from Greek."

Every boy and girl sprang from their seats, sprinting to the windows on the left to gawk at the beautiful, colorful lights.

"Please, everyone, remain in your seats!" the conductor ordered. The people groaned as they trudged back to their booths and tables, watching the lights from their seats. The conductor checked his stopwatch before heading back to the boiler room, and Zach turned to Sara and Ryan again.

"Psst," he whispered. "Hey. You guys wanna go with me to the rear balcony? We can get a better view."

"No way," Sara whispered back. "The conductor said to stay seated."

Zach shrugged, rising from his seat. "Suit yourself."

"Wait," Ryan stopped him. Zach grinned as Ryan stood.

"What are you doing?" Sara asked.

Ryan shrugged. "I've never seen the Northern Lights before. I've always wanted to."

"You're gonna get in trouble!" Sara warned, but Ryan didn't listen as he followed Zach through the back door and out onto the balcony.

Green lights swirled around in the dark sky, surrounded by a blanket of little twinkling stars. Ryan folded his arms over the railing, leaning forward slightly. "Wow."

"Wow isn't the word for it," Zach said, imitating Ryan's position on the rails. "I'd say it's more deserving of a 'holy moly!' or a 'golly gee!'"

Ryan shoved him in annoyance, but Zach only returned, laughing. "Well, I'll leave you to it," he said, and Ryan didn't stop him. That kid got on his nerves like no one else.

The wind was cold against his skin, and he had to hold onto his robe as it flew back behind him. His eyes bulged when he turned and noticed his ticket flapping in his pocket, looking ready to escape. His hand reflexed to catch it, but it was too late. He watched as the little bronze paper flew up in the air, above the train and out of sight. "Shit," he whispered to himself.

He glanced over to his right, where handle bars were attached to the train in the form of a ladder.

He ascended up the steps, poking his head up when he reached the top to be met with snow covering the surface of the train, and fog clouding his vision. He narrowed his eyes, and... was that a fire blazing in the distance?

He pulled himself up onto the top of the train, wobbling a bit before catching his balance, then lugged himself through the foot of snow that had piled up on the train.

The wind blasted him forward as he followed the glowing orange light, until he reached a man, who was sitting on a log by the fire and rubbing his hands together. He had to be freezing, with only one fingerless glove on his hand and a light coat to warm him. He lifted his head. "Can I help you there, kid?"

The man scratched his stubble, rubbing some of the ash on his face away. His tender eyes bored into Ryan's soul, contrasting with the long, pointy nose he sported, as he pressed his mouth into a thin line.

"Um..." Ryan started, tugging on the sleeve of his robe. "I... I've lose my ticket."

"Your ticket, huh?" The man lowered his head, returning his gaze to the crackling fire and holding his hands out closer to it. "You really gotta hold on tight to those things, boy," he said, smoke blowing out his nose from the cold as he exhaled. "I learned that the hard way."

Ryan rubbed up and down his arms in an effort to warm them. "Did you by any chance see it?"

"Nope. Sorry, kid," the man replied, then he coughed. Ryan wondered how long it'd been since this man had anything to drink. "I'd let you borrow mine, but, see, I ain't got one. I ride this here train for free."

Ryan lifted an eyebrow. "You're a freighthopper?"

The man threw his head back, letting out a dry laugh. "Nah, kid. You see, I'm the king of this train," he said, pushing himself off the log that sat in the snow as he threw his hands up in a grandeur gesture. Then he sighed. "Well, not anymore. But I was." He crouched down, patting the surface of the train. "This old thing here used to be mine."

"Oh," was all Ryan said, shoving his hands away into his pockets as the man stood back up. "What happened?"

The man paused, looking Ryan dead in the eye. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

Ryan's eyes widened in surprise. "No, no-not really."

"Neither did I." The man sat back down on the log beside the fire, shivering in the harsh, cold wind. "A long time ago."

Ryan held his robe tighter to his chest as the wind began to fight harder. "What made you believe, sir?"

The man scrunched his nose up, sniffling. "Shane," he said. "The name's Shane. Not 'sir.'" He made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "'Sir' is what you call someone old and decrepit. Do I look old and decrepit to ya?"

"No, sir— Shane," Ryan replied.

Shane chuckled. "It's a wonder I've kept so young. You wanna know how old I really am?" he asked. Ryan didn't say anything, so Shane took that as a yes. "One hundred and eighty-three years."

"That's impossible," Ryan said, crossing his arms over his chest. This man had to be a joke.

"Believe it, kid," Shane said, rubbing his soot-covered palms together more roughly than before. "I know you will. In time."

Ryan raised a challenging eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"'Cause I know." Shane took his newsboy cap off, shaking his sweaty hair out before adjusting it back on. "You got a believer deep inside ya. I can tell."

Ryan stared at the man before looking over his shoulder, anxiously wanting to get back inside where it was nice and warm. Shane seemed to notice, as he snorted and waved his hand in a gesture. "Anyway, you best get back down there before you catch frostbite. Or worse— a cold."

Ryan offered the man a pitiful frown. "Won't you freeze out here?"

Shane smirked. "Don't you worry about me, kid," he said. "I got a good fire going. You go on in there, go have a good time with those other kids."

"Oh... well, alright, I guess," Ryan said, turning to walk back. "See you then."

Shane laughed. "I'm not going anywhere."

Ryan took a single step forward before it crossed his mind that the polite thing to do would be to offer the strange man some hot cocoa, so he turned back, opening his mouth to speak.

But the man was gone.

"Shane?" he called, his voice echoing. He knitted his eyebrows, darting his eyes from here to there. Not a trace of him was in sight. "Hello?"

His words just reverberated throughout the mountains, and he stood there, completely dumbfounded. His teeth began to chatter, and his body began to shiver, so he decided all he could do was turn back. He climbed down the steps, hopping down onto the platform, and he had a mini heart attack when he caught sight of a shadow of a man standing before him, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Young man, just what do you think you're doing out here?"


End file.
